


yours, until the stars fall from the sky

by toplinson (crybaby)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, M/M, Many Holidays, Miscommunication, Pining, a lot of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-21 23:50:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3707803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crybaby/pseuds/toplinson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘What?’ he shouts over the music.</p><p>‘Niall says you don’t like Halloween?!’ Harry shouts back, looking highly offended on behalf of the holiday.</p><p>‘Yeah?’ He shouts back, accompanied by a shrug. ‘It’s not that I have anything against Halloween, I just hate the holidays.’</p><p>‘How can you hate holidays?’ He looks like Louis has just given him the bad news about the family pet.</p><p>Louis shrugs, leaning back against peeling upholstery. ‘Dunno, they just always bring me bad luck, I guess.’</p><p>
  <b>(louis has a strong aversion for holidays, and a strong adoration for harry)</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	yours, until the stars fall from the sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [harrystaco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrystaco/gifts).



> Gosh, I would like to start off by saying how sorry I am for butchering your prompt. I really tried my best, and I hope that you will possibly at least enjoy it a little bit, even though Louis isn’t grumpy and there actually isn’t much emphasis on the holidays at all. I struggled a bit with getting the characters right, and I know that they’re still far off, but I tried my best (and my best somehow ended up with me using the more italics than I think I’ve ever done and basically just writing a 15k ode to Harry Styles, so, sorry…)
> 
> I’m so sorry if this is a disappointment, I just struggled quite a bit while writing it, and I can’t even believe that I used dreaded miscommunication as a plot device. I’m sorry if it’s a bit of a let-down, and am also extremely sorry for the jumps from lust to angst to absolute drivel. And also another apology for the last bit which I personally feel really does not fit with the rest of the fic, but I was persuaded to keep it in.
> 
> So in short, I hope that despite the fact that this is an extremely cliché mess, it will be easier to read than it was to write.
> 
> A huge thank you goes out to K for her pep talks and letting me type in aggressive caps lock, and thank you to M for sending me pictures of baby animals to keep me motivated and for “Brit-skimming” this. Thank you to my sister for not judging me and for helping me with rephrasing a few sentences that just didn’t sound right, while also reteaching me editing and errors.
> 
> And then the world’s biggest thank you to V. I’m so sorry for the stress I put you through by sending you four different versions of one fic only to change my mind last minute. Thank you for cleaning up the thousands of words that will never see the light of day and not hating me when I told you as much, and then still not hating me when I sent you this. So yeah, thanks V for the beta, and all remaining mistakes are my own (because I didn’t give you near enough time to edit this properly)
> 
> Title taken from Baby I’m Yours by Artic Monkeys, and I hope that you like this at least a little bit ♡

 

**31 OCTOBER 2014**

 

Louis holds his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he digs for his keys, setting down his laptop bag as he fumbles to press the key into the lock, turning it with a metallic jangle. ‘Yeah, no, I promise, don’t worry,’ Louis says, unable to keep the grin off his face. ‘I’ll see you later, yeah?’

 

Niall answers affirmative and puts down, so that Louis can slide his phone into his pocket and pull his key from the lock, stuffing it back into his trouser pocket before he picks up his laptop bag. There’s a sound of scuffle coming from the stairs, and Louis turns, eyebrows pinching together.

 

There’s a boy at the top of the stairwell, looking a second away from keeling over as he pants, slumped over a box clearly set on it’s wrong end. It’s got **bedroom** written across its side in black marker, except upside down, so more like **ɯooɹpǝq**.

 

‘Need some help, mate?’ He calls, adjusting the strap of his laptop bag as the boy stands to full height, and yeah, okay then. Louis has to make the conscious decision not to stare, because. Just because.

 

The boy is something else, narrow-bodied and covered in a sheen of sweat. Louis drags his eyes up from his ratty tennis shoes, over deliciously toned thighs and narrow waist and the sagging neckline of a buttery t-shirt, before he’s looking at his face. And what a face it is.

 

He’s alarmingly pretty. Not in the upfront way that Zayn is, more subtle with his wide-set moss-green eyes and shockingly pink mouth. There’s something a bit awkward about him, but something overbearingly sweet too, in the inward turn of his feet and the stray hairs curling around his ears, escaped from his bun. Louis falls in love easy, and he can already feel his heart landing at the feet of the perfect stranger.

 

‘Yeah, if you’d be willing,’ he replies with a low voice, rough and sweet and beautiful, like honey or good bourbon. It takes Louis a second to remember what he asked, before he’s setting his laptop bag back down and rubbing his palms on his thighs. He hoists up the surprisingly heavy box to distract himself from how close he is to the beautiful creature, trying to balance out the weight of it before he follows the boy to the door across from his own and waits for him to open it, so that Louis can step across the threshold and set the box down with the large collection of others already stacked inside his flat.

 

‘Thanks,’ the boy says then, already walking away into what Louis knows is the kitchen nook, their flats carbon copies of each other. ‘Can I interest you in anything to drink?’

 

Louis almost blurts out tequila, because it’s been a long week and he’s just found out that an angel is now living across from him, before remembering that he is not friends with this person and he does not want to give him the wrong impression. I.e. the impression that he is an alcoholic. ‘Um, tea, if you’re making,’ he says before he can help himself, even though he knows he has work to do before trying to scrounge up some type of costume for tonight. Oh well, he’ll figure it out. He somehow thinks tea with his very attractive new neighbour is more important than getting pissed with Niall and Zayn and Liam.

 

‘Milk? Sugar?’

 

‘Splash of milk, no sugar thanks,’ Louis answers, before skipping across the hallway to nudge his laptop bag through the doorway of his flat and pulling the front door closed, ducking back into his neighbour’s flat seconds later.

 

He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over his forearm, looking around the largely bare flat. The woman who lived here previously was quiet and Louis greatly suspects that the various warnings he got for volume control were due to her complaints.

 

The flat smells like fresh paint and incense, the walls coated in a new layer of cream and the wooden floors polished. It’s funny to think that Louis’ tip used to somewhat resemble something this pristine.

 

There’s a large brown couch pushed into the corner, with an empty bookshelf, chipped coffee table, and a bubblewrapped television.

 

‘Here you go.’ Louis jumps at the sound, turning to face the overwhelmingly pretty boy and hoping that he doesn’t think of him as creepy for scrutinising his flat. He offers Louis a warm smile and a warm mug, gesturing over to the comfy looking couch.

 

Louis sits down with a sigh, setting his mug on the coffee table so that he can drape his jacket over the arm of the couch instead of his own arm. His new neighbour has a sip from his own mug before his eyes widen almost comically and he sets his mug down on the coffee table with flourish. ‘Gosh, I haven’t even introduced myself yet. Hi, I’m Harry.’

 

Louis’ heart quite possibly grows three sizes from that alone. He reaches out a hand, feeling his skin tingle when his palm presses against _Harry’s_. ‘Louis.’

 

‘Lovely to meet you Louis,’ Harry says with a grin, sounding genuinely sincere.

 

Louis smiles at him, leaning back against the couch as Harry crosses one ridiculously long leg over the other. Honestly. He looks like he should be in some sort of magazine, draped in YSL or Burberry or something. Or perhaps just spread out in Louis’ bed. ‘So, where are you from Harry?’ he asks to get his mind away from the dangerous territory that is thinking about the boy across from him wearing less than he is currently.

 

‘M’from Cheshire. Was kind’ve scared to move really,’ He trails off, looking down into his mug so that Louis can gaze upon the possibly-illegal picture he makes when his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks.

 

‘Why’s that?’ He asks, disregarding the fact that he might possibly come across as nosy. He just would quite like to hear Harry talk for years, maybe.

 

Harry shrugs, setting his mug down before leaning back and resting his elbow on the back of the couch. ‘Just, quite scary moving from somewhere small that you’ve been all your life. Was scared I wouldn’t meet anyone nice or make any friends and I’d be home with my tail between my legs by Christmas.’

 

He has such a lovely way of speaking, each word rolling lazily off his tongue. It’s relaxing, disarmingly so, his words soothing out all the tension from a busy week that’s settled on Louis’ shoulders. His mouth also looks erotically sinful when he speaks, which is something Louis probably should not think about. He should definitely not think about the way his little pink tongue pokes out to wet his lower lip. Not at all.

 

‘Well, you’ve met me at least,’ he jokes, but Harry smiles at him, eyes scrunching up.

 

‘Yeah,’ he agrees, his eyes flicking over Louis’s body before back up to his face. If Louis were more hopeful, he would think Harry’s just checked him out, but alas. Harry looks around the room then, pulling at a loose curl. ‘Is it weird that I’m looking forward to unpacking?’

 

That startles a laugh out of Louis, and he finds himself shifting the tiniest bit closer to him. ‘Quite, I’m afraid to say.’

 

Harry giggles, actually _giggles_. God, Louis is going to fall in love with a Disney character. ‘I dunno, I’m just excited to make this space my own, you know?’

 

Louis does not know, or at least he doesn’t think he knows. His flat is a mess of dirty laundry and takeout containers. ‘Yeah,’ he says, despite himself, agreeing with Harry in hopes he’ll talk some more.

 

‘Like, it probably sounds silly, but I’m excited to have somewhere that I can truly make mine. Like, I can do whatever I want to make this place feel like home.’

 

He’s blushing, and Louis is definitely in love. He wants to put Harry in his pocket and kiss his tummy and tickle him and maybe fuck him into next week. He doesn’t know how to reply, but Harry looks lost enough in his thoughts that he probably won’t notice, so Louis lets himself watch him.

 

He’s glowing almost, his skin fair but tinged gold and speckled with moles and beauty marks. He has the faintest dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose and his eyelashes are dark brown and thick, like some sort of porcelain doll. His cheeks have bloomed the softest shade of blush, Colgate-white teeth biting into a Jolie-esque lower lip. He’s got faint lines between his eyebrows and bags under his eyes, and Louis probably (see: definitely) should go home and take a cold shower to calm himself down because all he wants to do is lean closer and kiss over each eyelid.

 

‘Hey,’ Louis says softly, to break the silence that’s blanketed over them, ‘my friends and I are going out later for Halloween, and I’d love it if you’d come with.’

 

‘Really?’ Harry asks, his face going from thoughtful to giddy in milliseconds.

 

‘Yeah, if you’d like.’

 

Harry’s got dimples. Louis is so fucked. ‘Must I dress up?’

 

Louis shrugs. ‘Well, probably, but if you don’t want to, my mate Zayn always manages to get us in anywhere, no matter what we’re wearing, so you don’t really have to.’

 

Harry stands then, hooking two fingers through the handle of Louis’ empty mug. ‘I love dressing up, don’t worry.’ Louis stands too, taking that as his invitation to leave. ‘About what time?’ Harry looks young and excited, his eyes shining as he pauses in the archway to the kitchen. Louis briefly worries that he’s fallen for an eighteen year old or something, Harry’s youthful glow coming as a kick to the head. Harry must be older though, to be living on his own away from home.

 

‘Um, let’s say I’ll give you a knock nine-ish? We’re going to Zayn’s first, so it doesn’t really matter.’

 

Harry grins at him, ducking into the kitchen. Louis’ about to let himself out before Harry returns in a blink, leading him to the door and opening it for him. He steps into his space, wrapping his arms around his neck in a hug that catches him a bit off guard, but he enjoys it anyway, wrapping one arm around his waist to make the most of the display of affection.

 

 

 

Louis marks four tests before he starts trying to find something to wear. By the time nine comes around, he’s just put a Superman t-shirt on underneath his shirt and taken out his contacts. He musses up his hair a bit before deciding he looks alright, has possibly a seventy thirty chance of pulling.

 

He locks his front door after himself, tucking his keys into his front pocket with his wallet, before crossing the short distance to Harry’s front door and rapping his knuckles against the wood.

 

Harry pulls open his door and Louis was never nor could he have ever been ready. Harry’s in a striped dress shirt and, well, nothing else really. He’s got on white socks and his white tennis shoes and Louis’ sure he’s probably got white briefs on too, a perfect Joel Goodsen. Louis’ also sure he can die happily after witnessing the beauty that is Harry’s bare thighs.

 

‘Oh god, is it too much? No, too little?’ He worries his lower lip between his teeth and god, Louis is not strong enough for this.

 

‘No, you’re good,’ he manages to croak, past the dryness of his throat.

 

Harry beams at him, before he’s stepping farther out his flat, and Louis steps aside to stand out of his way. ‘I have a pair of angel wings, so I was thinking of being an angel, but I’m not sure what angels wear,’ he trails off, staring thoughtfully at his keys in his hand after he’s locked up. Nothing, Louis’ brain supplies, angels wear nothing. ‘So then I was thinking of being Rocky. Not the boxer one, the Horror Show one.’

 

‘But you didn’t have gold shorts?’ Louis guesses, watching Harry crouch down and slip his keys under the Welcome! mat that he’s sure Harry must have brought with him.

 

‘No, I actually do strangely enough, even have gold shoes, but then I remembered last time I went out in my gold shorts, and I don’t really want a repeat of that night. Will my keys be safe if I leave them here?’ Harry looks up at him, sat prettily on his knees, and Louis’ mind goes off to Bad Places. Places he should not venture into with his new neighbour. Streng Verboten.

 

‘Should be. So, Joel Goodsen?’

 

Harry stands up, accepting the hand Louis offers him. ‘Yeah, seemed easy enough.’ He pauses, before he turns back to Louis. ‘I’m also starting to realise a common trend in that all my costume ideas don’t seem to involve pants.’

 

Louis laughs, realising that he is going to die at the hands ( _legs_ ) of someone he’s just met.

 

(No, he decides, after sharing a cab with Harry and letting him walk up ahead of him when they reach Zayn’s building, he is going to die from the _arse_ of someone he’s just met.)

 

 

 

By the time that they’re leaving Zayn’s, a little tipsy from tequila shots, Harry has integrated himself perfectly. Zayn’s also given Louis The Look more times than he can count on one hand, but Louis is pointedly ignoring him.

 

Harry’s minimal costume gets a seal of approval from Liam, which isn’t surprising, because like Louis, Liam’s also stayed in his work clothes (except his admittedly are a bit sexier than Louis’) minus a t-shirt, so that he’s a shirtless fireman. Niall’s dressed up as Mr Rogers, despite Zayn assuring him that A, no one is going to know who he is, and B, he is definitely not going to get any pussy. Zayn makes a fair argument, although he definitely would win the prize for least effort, going on the fact that he’s just pulled on a leather jacket and brushed his hair over to one side.

 

Another thing Louis was never prepared for, after how easily Harry has made himself belong, is how lovely his hair is. His fingers twitch with the desire to do his hair in little plaits like he always does for his sisters when he pulls it out of its bun, shaking it out before combing through it with his fingers. It’s so gloriously long and beautiful and it is probably a sign that Louis has reached a low point in his life that he feels he could get hard from _hair_. But too be fair, the thought of running his fingers through it, balling it up in his fists and pulling as he fucks Harry from behind, does seem like a legitimate enough visual to get hard to.

 

Harry complains about being cold the entire walk to the club, to the extent that Louis almost piggy backs him in hopes it will make him hush (and also partially because he’d quite like to get his hands on Harry’s legs in any way possible. In the least perverted sense.)

 

There are definite benefits to being best friends with someone with a face like Zayn’s, such as getting to cut to the front of a long line and getting waved in instantly. There are of course many other benefits, such as having someone to call at 3am who will pretend to listen to you worry about your life and knowing that no matter what, you’ll always have a partner in crime, but those don’t seem highly important when all Louis wants to do is get drunk.

 

It’s loud and dark and hot and Louis thinks Harry and his lack of pants probably has the right idea. Well, a better idea than him anyway. Deciding to go to a club in a suit is, in hindsight, probably not one of his smartest decisions ever.

 

Liam guides them around the perimeter, to where Sophia has gotten them a booth. They squeeze in, ending up with Harry’s thigh pressed up against Louis’ in the best way. There’s a lonely looking shot left on the table, surrounded by empty glasses and coasters and receipts, and Louis knocks it back in the hopes it will mute his desire to rest a hand on Harry’s bare leg and maybe pull him into his lap.

 

He can hardly hear anything, so Harry has to press in close to talk to him, and Louis has never been more grateful for loud music in his life than when he gets to have Harry laughing against his ear, and in turn, getting to lean in and press his lips up to the shell of Harry’s ear, so close that he can smell his shampoo.

 

Louis zones out staring at Harry for a bit when Harry starts talking to Niall, only snapping out of it when he realises the two of them are staring at him. ‘What?’ he shouts over the music.

 

‘Niall says you don’t like Halloween?!’ Harry shouts back, looking highly offended on behalf of the holiday.

 

‘Yeah?’ He shouts back, accompanied by a shrug. ‘It’s not that I have anything against Halloween, I just hate the holidays.’

 

Niall turns away, presumably to chat up one of Sophia’s friends. It’s a bit creepy, Niall with baby powder in his hair and a pipe in his hand, trying to seduce a girl dressed up as Barbie. He draws his attention back to Harry, who is staring at him in shock.

 

‘How can you hate holidays?’ He looks like Louis has just given him the bad news about the family pet.

 

Louis shrugs, leaning back against peeling upholstery. ‘Dunno, they just always bring me bad luck, I guess.’

 

‘But you’re here, and you’re dressed up,’ Harry says, his brow furrowed sweetly. He looks adorable, and Louis thinks the alcohol is actually worsening things, because he catches himself just in time as he’s leaning in to kiss his forehead to soothe away the worry lines.

 

‘Yeah, because Halloween at least brings me alcohol. Everything else just brings misery.’

 

‘Easter?’ Harry asks, leaning in closer to him. Louis shakes his head. ‘Valentine’s day?’ Louis shakes his head again. Harry’s so close that he could probably count each perfectly curled eyelash, each faint little freckle.

 

‘Christmas?’ he tries again, and Louis throws his head back.

 

‘Christmas is the worst of them all.’

 

Harry looks ready to fight him, before Louis spots a flash of wavy hair and lovely legs past him, cheering out a loud, ‘El!’

 

Eleanor spins until she spots him, her face splitting into a grin. She squeezes in on the other side of Harry, leaning across him to give Louis a half-hearted hug. Louis pulls away from her, grin making his eyes scrunch up in the corners, before he turns to Harry. ‘And this here is one of the reasons why I hate Valentine’s Day so much. Harry, this is Eleanor.’

 

Harry offers her a smile before his eyes dart back to Louis, as if asking for further explanation. ‘She broke my heart last year, broke up with me when I was planning to propose.’

 

Eleanor laughs and rolls her eyes, resting a hand on Harry’s shoulder and leaning across him so that Louis can hear her. ‘Please, you knew it was coming, so don’t give me that bullshit,’

 

‘Details, details,’ he mutters, only getting a last wink from Eleanor before she’s gone in a flash of glitter and golden tan, presumably having spotted a possible conquest. Louis turns back to Harry, picking up his beer as he does. It’s a lot closer to being finished than he remembers. ‘What were we talking about?’

 

Harry shrugs, shaking his head before he brushes his hair back and looks at Louis, tilting his head as he regards him. It makes heat prick at the back of his neck. ‘What?’ he asks, soft enough that Harry probably doesn’t hear, but Harry shakes his head anyway, hair falling back into his face. Louis feels something weird curl in his belly.

 

He downs the rest of his drink before he stands, climbing over Harry to get out of the booth and pointing at the bar over his shoulder. ‘M’gonna get another drink, you want one?’

 

Harry shakes his head again, and something about him looks off, but Louis ignores it in favour of making his way to the bar, trying to squeeze his way to the front. It takes what feels like years until he gets close enough to the bar to squeeze in and claim his space, and even longer before he’s served, the bartender favouring those wearing less or who look like more over Louis.

 

Harry’s gone when he gets back, but it doesn’t take him long to find him. Louis leans back in the gritty booth and frowns at the sight of Harry with a man a bit bigger than him, his shoulders broad and back turned to Louis. Harry’s smiling, leaning back against the railing that separates the raised bit they’re on from the area where people are dancing. He watches as Harry does a pitiful excuse of an air guitar performance to the man, guy. Guy-man.

 

When Harry and Guy-man make their way onto the dancefloor, Louis’ sure his eyes must be as, if not more, green as Harry’s. He wouldn’t say he’s used to rejection, but he knows not to assume that everyone he is attracted to will be attracted right back. It sits with him in the worst way as he watches Harry dance with Guy-man, before he and Guy-man get into each other’s space, and then Harry’s up against Guy-man’s front, and Louis just feels a horrible wash of disappointment at the sight of Harry’s head tipped back on Guy-man’s shoulder, hands that aren’t Louis’ tracing all over his body.

 

He is being silly and stupid and also dumb, he knows, because he has known Harry less than half a day, and he is being ridiculous. He didn’t expect Harry to want to get acquainted with his bedding, but his mood plummets a bit at the cold splash in the face that Harry isn’t interested in him.

 

He leaves early, drawing Zayn off of the mouth of a pretty blonde to tell him so. Zayn gives him a wink, probably guessing that Louis’ found someone to spend the night with. Louis doesn’t want to spoil his night, which is presumably going well if the fact that he’s got his hand up blonde girl’s skirt is any indication, so he grins back, before he takes a taxi home.

 

 

 

**24 DECEMBER 2014**

 

There are very few people in the world who know the date of Louis’ birthday, namely his family, the boys, and Eleanor. He never bothered telling Harry about his birthday because it’s pointless, really. It never came up, and all it really is is a distraction from Christmas for everyone else, and a reminder that Louis has one foot in the grave and is a whole year closer to having completely grey hair.

 

Louis thinks there’s a chance not even his youngest siblings know about his birthday.

 

His family knows how he feels about it, so the festivities are usually limited to cake and champagne before bedtime, but nothing more, because Louis doesn’t want any part of it.

 

So when, in the early morning of the 24th, his mum creeps into the kitchen and in a hushed voice says, ‘There’s someone at the door for you,’ Louis is not expecting to see Harry.

 

Harry in the snow, on his front step. Harry with a mossy beanie covering his lovely hair and a thick oatmeal snood wrapped around his neck, enveloped up in the tweed coat _Ben_ got for him and his boots from _Jeff_. Louis invites him in without questioning, because it’s fucking freezing.

 

Harry actually sits down to takes off his boots. He’s a bit of a sight, about 60% clothing and his big leather backpack pulling him backwards. One of the new dogs clatters over to sniff him out, and Louis can’t help but feel just as curious as the little white fox terrier as it smells Harry. He is, of course, a little more reserved with his curiosity, and does not stick his nose into Harry’s bum to look for answers as to why he’s at his house.

 

Louis thanks god and also his mum that the kitchen is clear when he steers Harry into it, sitting him down at one of the rickety chairs and getting out another mug. He frowns when he realises his tea’s gone cold. It’s only once he’s made Harry a mug of disgracefully milky tea, like how he likes it, and heated up his own in the microwave, sat down across from Harry at the breakfast table, that he unleashes his frown.

 

‘What are you doing here?’ He eyes Harry suspiciously. Harry’s been gushing about going home for Christmas since the first, so it baffles Louis that he’s sitting across from him, very much not at his own home like he should be.

 

Harry levels him with his own frown, which looks a bit silly, because he’s flushed milk-white and his nose is bright pink and he looks like he’s trying to contain his smile, but A for effort, and all that. He leans across the table, highly conspiratorial, nudging Louis’ specially made tea out of the way, and Louis would be offended if he weren’t highly confused.

 

‘It’s your birthday,’ he says, voice low like it’s hush hush, a secret just for the two of them. And it is meant to be hush hush and a secret, but not one that Harry knows, for fuckssakes.

 

‘Who told you?’ Louis murmurs, squinting at him. His best guess is Niall, because Niall is Irish, doesn’t give a shit about secrecy. It could be Liam though, he would definitely let it slip accidentally. And then give Harry his address to visit him. Help him book a train ticket, too, probably. Actually, Zayn would probably tell Harry if he asked, because of the extreme soft spot he has for him. But really, Louis knows Eleanor is probably the only one who would tell Harry without any prompting or by accident. She probably thought it was a good idea. The she-devil.

 

‘Not important. What is important is the fact that _you_ didn’t.’

 

Harry looks sad now, which is just annoying. People as pretty as Harry should never be sad. It’s one of the main reasons why he’s always so protective of Zayn when he gets into new relationships.

 

‘It is an irrelevant day, that’s why I didn’t bother telling you. Now the real question is why are you here?’

 

Harry isn’t listening to him, just looking at him, all affronted like. Louis thinks back to Halloween, in the booth, arguing about holidays. Harry stands up, and Louis knows he’s in for it before Harry’s even crossed the table to come and stand in front of his chair.

 

‘An irrelevant day? Louis, twenty six years ago,’ Louis cringes at the number, pulling a face that Harry pointedly ignores, ‘you were brought into this world. If it weren’t for this day, twenty six years ago, you wouldn’t be here. Your mum wouldn’t have a boy as her firstborn, and none of your sisters would have an older brother. You’d be leaving your students with some knob who thinks it’s a good idea to teach high school students the Alexander Technique, most likely, and god, you’d be leaving the biggest hole in our little friendship group.’

 

It’s extremely sweet and sappy and Louis smiles up at Harry, but Harry still looks like a serious little kitten, his face set with a stony expression as he crouches down, resting his hands on Louis’ thigh so that he’s looking up at him. ‘If you weren’t born twenty six years ago, I’d probably be back home right now. For good. If I didn’t have you across from me, I’d probably have given up a week in before moving back. If you weren’t born, I wouldn’t have a best friend.’

 

Louis thinks the thing he hates most about Harry is his pure, unadulterated sincerity. It’s almost painful to look at him, but he can’t look away either, his eyes locked with Harry’s ridiculous Bambi eyes as he blinks up at him. He feels frozen, staring at Harry, his eyes darting from his lips to his eyes to the mole at the left corner of his mouth to the scar above his right eyebrow. It feels like he’s got electricity thrumming through his blood, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He feels like the human equivalent of a toaster in a bath full of water.

 

But then Harry stands and turns away from him, and it’s broken. Harry walks back around the table and sits down again, letting Louis release the tension in his shoulders he didn’t know he was even holding. ‘And that is why I am here, because today is important and I want to celebrate it with you.’

 

Louis’ not entirely sure what Harry had in mind when he decided to jump on a train and come visit, but in the end, he does spend the day with Louis, doing absolutely nothing. It feels special, just because it so blatantly isn’t. It’s just another day of him being home, except Harry’s there.

 

They do nothing all day, lazing around with Louis’ army of sisters and Harry makes everyone sit through Grease because Louis once said it was his favourite, even though it’s more a favourite in theory than in practice, because he has definitely overwatched it, and halfway through he sneaks up to his room to escape it.

 

Harry finds him minutes later, closing the door quietly after himself and climbing onto Louis’ bed before he fits up against him, curled up on his side to tuck himself under Louis’ arm. Louis stays on his back, staring up at the galaxy of glow in the dark stars stuck to his ceiling.

 

His hands make their way into Harry’s hair through some kind of magical magnetic pull, and so they go, side by side in pure silence. At least it is pure silence until Harry mars it.

 

‘Are you happy?’ he asks softly. Louis tilts his chin to look down at him as best he can.

 

He’s so painfully beautiful that it hurts to look at him sometimes, and it feels like the moment they’re stuck in is one of those times. He looks soft and young, like he’s completely let his guard down and is fully comforted by the privacy that Louis’ presence offers. His hair falls around his head in a halo, somehow managing to tickle Louis’ neck in their current position.

 

Louis is no less infatuated with his lips than he was when he first met him, but now when he looks at him, looks at his raspberry red mouth, all he really wants to do is kiss him, lean in so that they can slot together, fitting like perfect puzzle pieces, like some sort of Nicholas Sparks cliché.

 

‘Yeah,’ he sighs out on an exhale in answer to Harry’s question.

 

Harry pushes himself up, squirming around until he can rest his chin on Louis’ chest, staring at him so openly that it makes Louis’ head hurt. He’s known Harry for such a short period of time, just shy of two months. In the grand scheme of things, the time he’s known Harry is nothing, but to Louis’, it’s everything.

 

Since the first day that Louis met him and promptly fell in love, he’s just dug himself deep into the endless black hole that is his extreme adoration for Harry Styles. He feels like a textbook example of unrequited love. It makes Louis second guess all the times he rolled his eyes at love songs and romantic films, because now he understands, he knows, and he can’t imagine ever rolling his eyes at someone who feels like he does when he looks at Harry.

 

He’s probably spoken to Zayn about it enough that he wouldn’t be surprised if he’s managed to make Zayn fall in love with him too, but so far it just seems like Zayn wants to sit Harry done and convince him to take a chance on Louis.

 

It’s just that, that’s not what Louis wants at all. He loves Harry with all his heart, for all he is, but he doesn’t expect anything from Harry in return. Just because being with Harry makes Louis feel a bit like he’s drowning, doesn’t mean he expects Harry to treat him any differently. Harry doesn’t owe him anything; the pure fact that Louis gets to know him is enough.

 

It does hurt a little, though, watching Harry find happiness that Louis wishes he could give him. He’s happy that Harry’s happy, even if it means trying to understand the complicated company Harry keeps, and the arrangements and _wives_ and people leaving his flat at strange hours. But if it makes Harry happy, that’s all that matters.

 

Since Halloween, when Louis went home and wallowed, staying up but refusing to acknowledge his reason why until he’d gotten what he was waiting for, had listened to Harry stumbling home with someone, he’s come to accept the fact that Harry will find his happiness in many places, and that’s okay, and Louis will find his in Harry, and Eleanor assure him that’s also okay.

 

He looks up at his stars, stuck up some twenty years ago, by a boy with dreams of being a professional football player. He feels a pang of something that isn’t quite sadness, but it hurts a bit, only worsened when he thinks about himself ten years ago, staring up at the stars and telling himself he would be a star too, soon. He just had to be patient and then he’d be free to find his own destiny and carve his name into history. He feels like he’s let them down a bit, aged twenty six in a flat that he thinks he’s sharing with a mouse at the moment, no children, no spouse, just a speck in a galaxy.

 

But at the same time, he thinks about the fact that he really is happy. He enjoys his job, and his flat is home, and he has what feels like an ever-growing family, and he’s in love with the boy who’s got his ear pressed up against the beat of his heart, breathing in synch and curled up on his childhood bed, on a day Louis used to hate.

 

‘I’m happy,’ he sighs, wrapping an arm around Harry.

 

 

 

After they’ve put all the little ones to bed, they crowd around in the kitchen, just him, Harry, mum, Dan, and Lottie, for a small celebration. Louis pops the champagne so that it doesn’t foam over, standing between Harry’s knees where he’s sitting up on the counter.

 

‘I actually made you a cake,’ Harry murmurs in his ear, as his mum and Lottie count out twenty six candles, ‘but I put it in a tin in my bag and forgot about it, so it got a little smushed.’

 

Louis laughs, leaning back into it when Harry drapes his arms over his shoulders. ‘I’m sure it’s still delicious, and I’m definitely going to eat it anyway.’

 

Harry presses a kiss to the top of his head then, and Louis just feels at peace.

 

He blows out all his candles in one go, meeting Harry’s eyes across the table as he does. He’s forcibly sat down with an enormous slice of cake and given gifts despite his protests. It’s mostly Practical Adult Things, like a five-pack of white socks and a Debenhams gift card and a cheque, but he does get a One Tree Hill boxset from Dan, and a Lilo and Stich bobble-head from his mum, and Lottie gives him a Backstreet Boys lunchbox, which is quite cute.

 

Harry blushes when he gives him a slightly wonky looking teddy bear that smells suspiciously of cake. ‘Made it myself,’ he mumbles, and Louis’ heart swells as he rubs his thumb across one of the button eyes, ‘M’mum knitted the jumper though, ‘cos I’m rubbish at knitting.’

 

Louis feels something he can’t name, just something heavy. Harry made him something, something that clearly took a lot of time and most likely a lot of finger-pricks, but the fact that his mum was a part of it is what hits Louis hardest. The fact that Harry asked his mum to help him make a gift for someone she’s never met, who he’s only known two months and who he left his family for to spend a day with. Louis reaches for his hand, squeezing it as hard as he can to try and convey everything he’s feeling to Harry.

 

He doesn’t think it fully works, but he thinks Harry might partially understand what he’s trying to say.

 

 

 

**25 DECEMBER 2014**

 

Louis wakes up half-expecting to find Harry in bed next to him, but alas. Dan had driven Harry to the station after Harry’d given him his cake and hugged him for six minutes straight, because despite the fact that Louis is very much an adult, his mum had still insisted that he go to bed so that he’d have energy for Christmas, and that Dan drive Harry so that he wouldn’t miss the last train out, the train which he promised his own mum that he would be on no matter what.

 

Louis sighs and stretches out in his bed, so that he’s touching each edge of the mattress. Harry’s bear is sitting on his desk, right where Harry left him. He looks even sweeter in daylight, his stitching visible and ears skew and one arm longer than the other, but staring at him makes Louis’ tummy fill with warmth.

 

The longer he thinks about Harry, the further the warmth spreads, until he’s climbing out of bed to turn Harry’s bear around, only to climb back in and get himself off to thoughts of Harry’s mouth, his beautiful thighs, his lovely ass.

 

 

 

Harry calls after lunch, on the home phone, because he’s managed to lose his charger again, he says. His voice is slow and glosses over individual words to conjoin them with others, so that all he’s really doing is drooling out sleepy syllables to Louis. Louis can see him so clearly, in what he imagines his bedroom must look like, lying flat on his back, belly-up like a little puppy. Belly full, eyes closed.

 

Louis should be downstairs so that they can start the annual Monopoly marathon, but he can’t bring himself to put the phone down, to cut off Harry’s rambling about his granddad and his baby cousin. It’s only when Harry finally falls asleep that Louis puts down the phone.

 

He’s always hated Christmas most of all, with a list a reasons that just grew and grew as the years went on, but it’s like something has just clicked into place. The living room floor is hard under his bum after hours of playing Monopoly, and the youngest twins keep crying while the older twins keep bickering, but Louis feels content.

 

By the time midnight comes, and it becomes the 26th, all the girls are tucked into bed, and Louis’ doing the dishes while his mum cleans up the storm of wrapping paper in the living room, Louis can’t help feeling like he misses it, the feeling of Christmas.

 

 

 

**31 DECEMBER 2014**

 

The speed at which Harry comes hurtling at him makes him suspect he’s probably been waiting for him. Harry leaps into his arms as soon as he drops his suitcase, wrapping his legs around his waist. Louis hooks his hands under his thighs to steady him, taking a few precautionary steps away from the stairwell. He can’t get the image of Harry staring out his window and waiting until he could spot Louis’ awful hat hair out of his mind.

 

He smells unfamiliar, clean, like boy and soap. There’s something missing that Louis can’t quite figure out.

 

Harry’s stuck some tinsel up on his door, which Louis rolls his eyes at as he wiggles his key around. He’s only just set his suitcase down before Harry’s dragging him across to his flat, only giving Louis half a second to pull his own door closed before he’s closing Harry’s after them.

 

It’s bizarre to think Harry’s only been here two months, his flat so lived in and homely, from the single decorative cushion, to the array of candles that make Louis’ head hurt, he’s ingrained himself into the small space. Louis thinks he could spend full days in Harry’s flat without being bored. The whole place is just a testament of Harry, of who he is, his personality injected into every object.

 

He’s also largely impressed with Harry’s ability to arrange his belongings in the small space in ways that had never occurred to Louis. He still has no idea how Harry managed to feng shui what is realistically just a glorified matchbox, but he did somehow, even has a little designated space for his yoga mat in front of the window.

 

Harry makes him coffee and brings him a biscuit with it. He’s got tupperwares full of gingerbread men left over from Christmas, and Louis decides he does not mind acting as a channel of disposal for him.

 

He sinks into Harry’s worn couch, shoes kicked off and lying haphazardly on the carpet as he pulls off the gingerbread man’s Jelly Tot buttons one by one. Harry curls up next to him, feet tucked under himself as he rests his head on Louis’ shoulder.

 

Doctor Who is playing on repeat, back to back episodes that speed by with the two of them tucked together, the volume down low. It’s probably the third episode they’re watching that Louis sighs and tilts his head up to stare at the ceiling. ‘I hate Doctor Who, always reminds me of when I had glandular fever when I was twelve.’

 

Harry makes a sound in the back of his throat, a bit like a whine mixed with a groan. ‘Why didn’t you say,’ he grumbles, before he just flicks the screen off, and then it’s just them and the noises drifting up from the street.

 

Louis flops down onto his back, legs bunched up due to Harry’s body blocking their path, before Louis pulls Harry down on top of him, and he can stretch his legs out properly. Harry wriggles a bit to get comfortable, settling once Louis has a mouthful of hair and an elbow in his ribcage. He doesn’t complain though, finds it’s strangely relaxing.

 

‘You smell different,’ he says finally, voicing his thoughts. Harry grumbles, so that Louis can feel the vibration of it in his chest.

 

‘Like what?’

 

‘I don’t know, just different.’

 

Harry’s quiet then, still as Louis starts to comb his fingers through his hair. ‘Is it good different?’

 

Louis breathes him in deeply, before he exhales, Harry’s head sinking down with his chest. ‘Yes,’ he answers, with a sense of finality.

 

Harry lets out what can only be classified as a purr.

 

Louis doesn’t very much feel like moving, so he has Harry dig around for his phone and pass it to him, so that he can call Liam and “gently persuade” him to tell everyone to come to Harry’s, rather than go to Liam’s. It’s for the greater good, really. If they have their little New Year’s Thing at Harry’s, then Louis won’t have to move _or_ pay cab fare to spare his balls from freezing. Also, Liam and Sophia live in a wealthier area with more old people, and Louis doesn’t much like the idea of being forcibly made to quieten down on New Year’s.

 

They drop off for a nap sometime between that phone call with Liam and then a phone call from Niall that consists of him asking if Harry has enough tequila and oranges. Louis feels a little bit pouty about the fact that his nice nap with Harry had to be cut short because Niall started early, but oh well.

 

Louis smells like train but his flat seems like thousand steps away, not twenty, and so he rather warns Harry that he’s not going to change, and if Harry finds issue with the fact, then he can fetch his suitcase for him, thank you very much. Harry just rolls his eyes and starts extracting himself from Louis’ limbs.

 

Louis follows after him when he goes into his bedroom, only to flop down, starfishing on his mattress as Harry pulls open his cupboard. Louis thinks he definitely should one day tell Harry that he is very in love with him, so that Harry will stop stripping down in front of him. Not because Louis doesn’t like it, but because it makes him feel like he’s taking advantage of Harry’s trust somehow.

 

But for now he just sighs to himself as Harry shucks off his joggers, pulls off his t-shirt so that he’s standing in nothing but his tiny grey pants. He’s been getting workouts from Sophia and has been joining El at the gym once every week, and Louis feels a bit like he’s being personally targeted because his thighs just keep getting more and more beautiful and his arse just looks better each time he is given the gracious opportunity to see it.

 

Harry is pure loveliness, broad shoulders and tiny waist and narrow hips, the sleek curve of his spine indented. His hair’s getting really long, and he just looks astoundingly lovely, standing in front of his cupboard indecisively.

 

Louis’ almost grateful when he finally pulls on his jeans, uncertain of how much longer he could stare at his legs without starting to feel sad. He pulls on a sheer black shirt, buttoning it up carefully, hair falling in his face as he does. He looks good, expensive and model-esque like he’s always aiming for. The shirt looks really good, big on him in a way that just makes him look tiny, opaque enough that not everything is visible, but see-through enough that it has Louis’ running his tongue over his lower lip, wanting to undo each button Harry’s just done up, and press his lips to each exposed sliver of skin. He looks almost bizarrely divine.

 

‘I like your shirt,’ he says eventually, when Harry’s moved on to fiddling with his hair. He pauses, catches Louis’ eye in the mirror when he sits up. The way his lips stretch when he smiles, pink enough to have their own double page spread, and the flash of his perfectly straight teeth, paired with his big eyes, makes him look like a doll. He looks like a Barbie come to life, too perfect to be real.

 

‘Thanks, got it from Ben.’

 

‘For Christmas?’

 

Harry shakes his head, knocking off the lid of the metal dish Zayn made for him. He starts the fascinating process of putting on his rings, sifting through them before slipping a large amethyst onto his middle finger, a thin silver band on his thumb, and a big gold ring with a P engraved in the face on his index, and then onto the other hand. He’s slipping his mercury ring on, head down, when he finally says,

 

‘He gave it to me as a goodbye present.’

 

Louis sits up proper then. ‘He going away for a bit then?’ Harry shakes his head, picking up a thin band with a little turquoise ladybug on the front, slipping it onto his pinkie. ‘Did he finish with you?’

 

Harry shakes his head again, setting the lid back on the dish. ‘No, I ended it with him.’

 

‘Shit,’ Louis whistles. It comes as a surprise, because Ben adored Harry, probably still adores him, and as far as he knew, Harry adored him right back. ‘And Jeff?’

 

‘Him too,’ Harry says slowly, almost like he’s also just hearing it for the first time.

 

‘Freddie?’

 

Harry nods. Louis feels a bit floored. Harry’s been exploring and finding himself sexually the past two months, trying out all sorts of things that he’s cryptically mentioned to Louis, but through it all, he had Ben and Jeff, and most recently Freddie, lavishing Harry devotedly. The fact that he’s ended it with all three of them makes a part of Louis tense up with the thought of _what if Harry found someone over Christmas_. He shakes the thought away, because if he did, good for him. For now, Louis just needs to process a bit, and maybe drink a bit more.

 

 

 

Somehow, they end up with more than the anticipated twelve people they thought would be coming, Harry’s flat full of thirty odd people, packed in tight and giddy from copious amounts of alcohol and loud music. Louis’ just beat Liam in a game of flip cup and is on his way to the bathroom when Harry pounces on him, melting on his back with his wrists hanging over his shoulders as he rubs his cheek between Louis’ shoulder blades.

 

Louis’ had a lot to drink, but Harry’s had even more. Louis’ glad he had the foresight to get Harry to tie up his hair earlier, so that it will be held back when he throws up later, and Louis will just have to worry about making sure he doesn’t cry, not worrying about not getting vomit in his hair.

 

‘Need to piss, babe,’ Louis sighs, trying to sound annoyed when he knows he just sounds fond. Harry mumbles something into his back, clinging on when Louis tries to nudge him off. ‘Fine, you’ll come with then.’

 

Harry stumbles with him to the bathroom, sitting on the edge of his bathtub as Louis pisses, eyes closed as he sways side to side. Louis’ zipping up when he hears the countdown start, people outside the door, chanting as Louis mutters, ‘fuck’ under his breath, hoisting Harry up with his hands under his arms.

 

‘Come on babe, countdown’s started,’ Harry digs his heels into his bathroom mat, glaring at Louis through slitted eyes. ‘Come on, my love, you don’t want to start your new year in the loo, do you?’

 

Harry gets this look on his face, like he’s had life blown back into him, and he looks at Louis like he’s just learnt all the secrets of the universe. ‘Wanna start it with you,’ he murmurs, slurring it so that Louis hardly catches it above the way his heart is beating and the sound of people shouting, ** _Three, Two, One._**

 

And then Harry’s mouth is against his, and Louis goes still with shock. Harry’s arms are heavy, wrapped around his neck, as he bestows upon Louis the softest kiss he’s ever received, before his lips part, and Louis’ first instinct is to just kiss him back, opening his mouth against Harry’s. It’s nirvana, his senses tingling and shivers dripping down his spine when their tongues touch.

 

It ends with Harry drawing back and pressing a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth, before he’s nothing but deadweight, draped over Louis and breathing against his neck. Louis’ little panic starts to kick in then, but he can hear the fireworks, and he knows that’s Harry’s favourite, so he ignores his own inner turmoil in favour of wrestling Harry out of the bathroom and unlocking his bedroom door, so that he can help him out onto his little bit of balcony, keeping him awake long enough to watch as the sky explodes in glorious technicolour, creating a visual of everything Louis had felt when they kissed. Harry falls asleep on his shoulder, and Louis rings in the New Year trying to put off his worries, wondering when he became a walking cliché.

 

 

 

**14 FEBRUARY 2015**

 

Louis answers the door on the first knock, greeting Harry by saying, ‘True love is the fact that I cleaned up for you.’

 

Harry beams at him, stepping around him to get inside. He’s got two Waitrose bags in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

 

First order of business is finding his corkscrew, so that he can open the bottle and pour them each a glass, before he sits down on a chair dragged in from his living room. Harry starts unpacking all he’s bought, dividing everything into two groups.

 

Louis’ in charge of supper and Harry dessert, and they’ve got Love Actually, Notting Hill, and The Wedding Date for later. Louis cracks his knuckles when Harry points him to his selection of requested ingredients. He’s not entirely sure how it’s going to work, them trying to cook each other surprise meals shoulder to shoulder, but oh well.

 

Louis’ an alright cook. He's nowhere near Harry's standard, but he likes to think he's on the same sort of level as the large majority of the male populace. And just as extra collateral to make sure he cooks something good for Harry, he's going with something he literally knows like the back of his hand. Chicken stuffed with mozzarella, wrapped in parma ham, with a side of homemade mash.

 

It's a strange sensation, the conflicting scents of chicken and chocolate mingling in the same space. He finds the more wine he drinks, the less he cares.

 

Harry, the angel, sets out a small tray of heart shaped chocolates when Louis starts trying to pick at what he's making, stuffing a praline into Louis' mouth when he tries to steal a strawberry. Strangely enough, it's when he places a chocolate in his own mouth that Louis properly stops pestering him, entranced by the sight of him pressing two fingers to his tongue and dragging them across his lower lip afterward. Louis swears, the longer he knows Harry, the younger he acts around him. He doesn't think he's felt this hormonal in a decade, but apparently Harry with his fingertips between his lips is enough to jumpstart his libido.

 

Harry has to help him get his mash right, tutting at him before taking custody of the pot to squash out all the lumps, but other than that, Louis thinks he does quite a good job in presenting a meal that at least looks good, even if it does end up tasting subpar.

 

They tuck together side by side with Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts while Louis watches Harry eat almost obsessively, letting the small sounds he makes when he eats feed his ego.

 

Harry presses a hand to his tummy once he's done with a satisfied smile, leaning up to press a quick kiss to Louis' cheek. 'That was amazing, Lou,'

 

Louis can't help but grin, no matter how hard he tries to squash it. Flattery from Harry makes him weak.

 

Harry's made chocolate fondant for dessert, and it's absolutely beautiful, garnished with strawberries dusted in icing sugar and pretty to the extent that Louis feels bad when he ends up dipping his finger into the soft centre of it and drags it down Harry's cheek.

 

Harry's look of shock is unbelievably cute, eyes wide before he smears chocolate across his cheek right back. Louis goes to repeat the action, but Harry turns his head, and Louis wipes his fingers across his lips. Time slows as he watches Harry's tongue dart out to swipe at his lower lip, then his upper.

 

He's snapped out of it when Harry rubs chocolate over his eyebrow. 'Truce!' He giggles, wiping at his face with the back of his hand as Harry smothers his giggles into the back of his wrist.

 

And then it's fine, until Harry turns around, holding a strawberry out to him and flashing him his Hollywood smile, so that Louis has no choice but to bite at the ruby red of the strawberry while Harry pinches the stalk.

 

As soon as he's swallowed, Harry turns to him expectantly, closing his eyes and letting his mouth hang open. Louis' heart is racing at a speed probably not safe. He looks down at his plate, swiping his fingers through chocolate, before he brings them to Harry's mouth. He presses them onto his tongue, his breathing stilted when Harry wraps his lips around his fingertips and sucks them clean. Louis is definitely half hard in his jeans.

 

It would appear that Harry is capable of mercy, as he leaves it at that, finishing off his dessert and settling in to finish the film. He takes Louis by the wrist, guiding his arm to wrap around his shoulders, so that he can burrow into his side and snuggle.

 

Louis needs more wine for this.

 

Harry whines in protest when Louis unwraps himself from him, reaching for the wine bottle and pulling out the stopper before he tops off each of their glasses, passing back Harry's before picking up his own and getting comfortable.

 

One film later and they're halfway through the next bottle, the volume down low as Harry studies his palm. He traces the tip of his finger along a crease in his palm.

 

'This line is long, which means you will live a very, very, very long life.' He then takes his hand between two of his own, folding it inwards and squinting his eyes to study how it wrinkles. 'This line here, means you will have a nice family, and sadly you don't have the money line, so you will never make any money at all.'

 

He knows Harry's just been talking bullshit. He doesn't doubt that at maybe some point in his life Harry could possibly read palms from what some or other magazine article told him, but right now he is definitely just mixing up everything he can remember. It's hopelessly endearing and endlessly funny.

 

'This line,' Harry starts, tracing his finger over a patch of Louis' palm where there actually is no definite line, 'means that you are very good in bed.' That's apparently when it becomes too much for Harry, because he finally lets out the laugh he's been trying to suppress, flopping back onto his back and covering his face with his hands. Louis' not sure of he's laughing more at Harry's botched palm reading, or his raucous laughter.

 

When Harry finally manages to calm himself down, he pushes himself to sit up and takes Louis' hand between his own again. Louis waits for him to say something, perhaps start trying to convince him of another talent, but Harry just holds onto his hand, before he's pressing his palm against Louis', slotting their fingers together.

 

It's awkward, their hands joined together between their knees, but Harry's palm is warm, and Louis swears he can feel his heartbeat through his fingers.

 

'Truth or dare?' He asks, voice low. He feels a bit tipsy in the best way, just a tiny bit giddy and dopey from guzzling down Harry's splurge-spend wine.

 

Harry groans. 'Dares are hard, Lou.'

 

'Fine. Truth or truth?'

 

Harry sighs, but Louis thinks it's an affectionate sigh. Hopes so, at least. 'Truth.'

 

‘If you were invisible for a day, what’s the naughtiest thing you would do?’

 

Harry tries to look pensive, but just ends up giggling, tipping his head forward and laughing into his knees before looking up at Louis. ‘I don’t why, but the first thing that popped into my head was sitting in on one of your classes and pulling your wheelie chair away whenever you want to sit.’

 

‘Disgusting,’ Louis wheezes, ‘I am absolutely appalled.’

 

Harry reaches up and flicks his nose, to add insult to injury. ‘Okay, now you. Truth or truth?’

 

Louis catches Harry’s hand. He’s got very nice nails. Very shiny and neatly trimmed. ‘Truth.’

 

‘Why do you hates holidays so much?’

 

Louis squints at him before leaning back against the couch and staring at him down the bridge of his nose. ‘You’re question is too broad and will require multiple different answers. Rules say you need to be more specific.’

 

‘You’re an idiot,’ Harry shakes his head before he mirrors Louis’ position, resting his cheek against his hand, ‘But fine, then at least tell me what holidays you hate.’

 

‘No, wait for your next turn.’

 

‘I’m having a do-over, the rules say it’s okay.’ Harry sticks out his tongue once he’s done speaking, which.

 

‘Hey, I make the rules not you.’

 

Harry lets out a long-suffering sigh. ‘You are stupid, and I dislike you intensely.’

 

Harry really has got the best pout Louis has ever encountered, and he’s stroppy in a way that Louis finds more cute than off-putting, which is probably due to the fact that they are most likely soulmates, but. No, bad thoughts. Louis shakes his head to rid himself of them.

 

‘Truth or truth?’ Harry just raises an eyebrow. Louis cannot think of any questions to ask him. ‘If you were an article of clothing, what would you be?’

 

‘I’d like to think I’d be a nice shirt, or a nice ring maybe, but knowing my luck I’d probably be a t-shirt with, like, those funny sayings? The ones people always bring you after they’ve been away?’ Louis closes his eyes and shakes his head, trying not to laugh. ‘Truth or truth?’

 

‘Truth.’

 

‘What holidays do you hate?’

 

‘Let’s see. Um, Valentine’s Day, Halloween, Christmas, Easter, New Year’s, and, wait, does my birthday count?’ Harry nods, looking away from where he’s counting the holidays on his fingers. ‘Okay, then my birthday too.’

 

‘I feel sad for you,’ Harry sighs, giving Louis ridiculous cow eyes. He’s utterly awful. No one should be able to widen their eyes and look as innocent as Harry does. ‘That’s six wonderful days that you refuse to enjoy.’

 

‘Hey, I do enjoy them/ In fact, I probably wouldn’t even say that I hate holidays, I just don’t really get into them.’

 

‘But why?’ Harry whines, an exact impression of one of Louis’ sisters.

 

‘Because they always bring me bad luck. Now stop cheating and let me have my turn. Truth or truth?’

 

‘Truth,’ Harry sighs, looking a bit grumpy and fed up with Louis.

 

‘What’s your most embarrassing nickname?’

 

‘My gran calls me her little apricot sometimes. I’m not sure why, actually,’ He trails off, gaze focussing on the couch cushion as he zones out in true tipsy-Harry form. Louis gives him a moment, taking the opportunity to eye the low neckline of his t-shirt before he nudges Harry with his foot. ‘Sorry. Um, okay, why do you not like New Year’s?’

 

‘I broke my leg on New Year’s eve when I was fifteen. Would you rather lose a hand, or a foot?’

 

‘Foot, definitely. Why don’t you like Halloween?’

 

‘My nan died on Halloween a few years ago,’ and because I met you, he thinks, before trying to erase the thought mentally. Harry gives him Sad Eyes, which Louis ignores because now is not the time for that. ‘Have you ever thought about kissing Zayn?’

 

‘Who hasn’t? Valentine’s Day?’

 

‘Was dumped by the girl I thought I was going to marry. Sugar or salt?’

 

‘Sugar. Why don’t you like your birthday?’

 

‘Birthday and Christmas are kind of joined. People used to forget my birthday because of Christmas, and it used to stress my mum out so much because I was a demanding little bugger who didn’t understand that there wasn’t enough money for me to get presents two days in a row, so the dislike has just been ingrained into me since I was little, I guess.’ Harry’s giving him Sad Eyes again. ‘Enough of that, it’s fine. Stop looking at me like you want to adopt me from the SPCA.’

 

‘Sorry,’ Harry says softly, but his eyes are still opened-wide and sad.

 

‘You’re intolerable. And I can’t think of any more questions, so ask what you will.’

 

‘Okay, which one haven’t I asked yet? Oh, yeah, okay. Why don’t you like Easter?’

 

‘My dad left us on Easter.’

 

Louis’ over it, but the sad look on Harry’s face just worsens and he looks like he wants to cry. Being in love with Harry is emotionally exhausting. ‘Come here, babe,’ he sighs, leaning back against the armrest and opening his arms, inviting him into a hug.

 

Harry dives into his chest, hugging him tightly. ‘You do have very shitty luck with holidays,’ he mumbles into Louis’ jumper. Their movie’s finished, and they stir in silence for a bit, as the DVD menu plays back to back, until, ‘But I can’t help but feel like you shouldn’t let bad things that have happened ruined what are meant to be times of happiness, you know?’

 

‘Well, they don’t really. I don’t know, Harry, it’s not like I spend every holiday sitting in my bathtub with a bottle of whiskey crying about my life,’ Harry looks up at him, and Louis never really feels prepared to be faced with Harry’s beauty, ‘I just don’t get into them, is all.’

 

‘I guess,’ He trails off, tucking his face into Louis’ neck. ‘My mum thinks it’s funny,’ he says into his skin, ‘that I absolutely live for the holidays but my best friend hates him.’

 

Louis gets that warm feeling again at the thought of Harry talking to his mum about him.

 

‘You know, I don’t think you’re as festively spirited as you say you are. As long as I’ve known you, the most you’ve done is wear a reindeer jumper for Christmas and buy some heart shaped chocolates.’

 

Harry shrugs, and his cheek feels hot where it presses against Louis’ neck.

 

‘Well, I knew you how you felt, so I reigned myself in. Didn’t wanna, like, rub it in your face or something,’

 

‘Dammit Harry,’ Louis wrestles Harry around a bit until he can look him in the eye, reaching up to brush his hair out of his face, ‘you don’t need to not do something you enjoy because you think it’ll upset me. Now I feel awful. Tomorrow we’re going to set up a Christmas tree at yours, okay?’

 

Harry laughs softly, eyelids heavy. Louis plays with his hair a bit longer, massaging his fingertips into his scalp so that Harry purrs contentedly. He’s sweet, near sleep and heavy in Louis’ lap. Louis’ so zoned out that he nearly misses it when Harry speaks.

 

‘T’was my birthday two weeks ago.’

 

Louis frowns, before he sits up, disrupting Harry’s comfy spot. ‘What?’

 

‘I turned twenty two, two weeks ago.’

 

‘Fuck, babe, why didn’t you tell me?’

 

‘I was thinking about what you said, about birthdays, and I dunno, just decided I was going to try not making a fuss about things.’ The thought of Harry practically ignoring his birthday because of him makes him feel almost illogically sad. ‘It was quite nice. I skyped my sister in Germany, and my parents back home. Went for a facial and a massage and baked myself special cupcakes. It was nice, just, treating it like a little secret only I knew about. A small part of me was just waiting for people to magically know somehow, and to come home and have a surprise party or something, but in the end I really liked not making a big deal of it.’

 

Louis’ chest hurts. He’s not sure why the thought makes him so sad, but it does. Harry loves to make a big deal of things, baked a bloody brandy-soaked tiramisu when Niall got a promotion. The thought of him suppressing himself because of Louis does not sit well.

 

‘I swear to god, Harry, if you ever do something like that again-‘

 

‘Like what?’

 

‘Don’t interrupt me. Like, not telling me when something important happens, know that I will personally dissect you and post your body parts to different towns beginning with the letter F. Promise me you’ll keep me informed about all important occasions in the future?’

 

‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’

 

‘Good.’

 

He makes Harry change the DVD as punishment while he finishes off washing the soaking dishes, Harry shuffling in to dry them and pack them away. Louis stuffs a chocolate into his mouth when he isn’t expecting it, and drags him bodily back to the living room before he can retaliate.

 

The cuddle in to watch Love Actually, tucked under the throw from Louis’ bed. It’s strange to think that two years back, he was wondering how he would ever get over Eleanor, and now he falls asleep with Harry’s hair in his mouth.

 

 

 

**5 APRIL 2015**

 

Louis groans and shrugs Harry’s hand off of his shoulder. Harry giggles, annoyingly chipper for a Sunday morning, before he pulls off his duvet, and Louis curls up, trying to save body heat when all he’s wearing are his jogging bottoms.

 

‘Why aren’t you in bed?’ Louis asks groggily, already missing the feeling of curling up behind Harry, getting to hold him in sleep. ‘More importantly, why are you making me get out of bed?’

 

‘We need to go to the church service, now get  _up_!’

 

Harry chucks his clothing onto him, very rudely actually, so that Louis sits up, rubbing at his eyes. Harry looks annoyingly awake and alert, considering how pale it is outside, his bedroom washed in watery grey light. He’s also already dressed, his hair brushed and face scrubbed, and good god, he’s even done up almost all his buttons.

 

‘I let you sleep as late as I could, so you can only have breakfast afterward, but we need to leave in ten minutes.’

 

Louis nods, running his fingers through his hair as he makes the decision to never agree to anything Harry says ever again.

 

Harry leaves the room, which Louis takes as a cue to get dressed. He pulls on his nice wool trousers and his nicest grey shirt, buttoning it up to the neck. He’s fiddling with the buttons of his cuffs when Harry comes back, brandishing a mug of coffee. There’s a little duckling painted on the mug, waddling around the circumference. Louis traces his thumb over it after accepting the mug from Harry.

 

‘You are an absolute angel,’ he sighs, after taking his first sip, earning a pleased sound from Harry.

 

‘Want help?’ he asks, reaching for Louis’ right cuff before he can even answer. Harry does up his button with a lot of unnecessary precision, Louis patting his head as a thank you as he tries to drink his coffee as fast as he can.

 

He brushes his teeth and pisses at the same time, splashing his face with water and making sure he looks good enough to make a good impression, before jogging downstairs to where the rest of the household is waiting for him. Harry passes him in coat, and Louis takes note of how they match, him in grey and navy and Harry in navy and brown, the effect just furthered when Harry hands him a pair of light brown gloves after pulling on own light grey ones.

 

It’s a brisk walk in the balls-cold weather to the church, Harry and Louis walking shoulder to shoulder behind Robin and Anne until they reach the church and are greeted by a wave of warmth upon entering. Harry takes everyone’s coats, leaving Louis with his parents, trying to find somewhere to sit.

 

They sit near the front, next to people that Anne and Robin seem friendly enough with. He’s introduced as _Harry’s friend_ , but the way that Anne says it makes Louis’ cheeks tinge pink, the way it rolls off her tongue almost jokingly making it sound like Louis’ his boyfriend or something.

 

Harry ducks back in, shooting him a grin before leaning over him to shake the hands of the people they’re sitting with in greeting. He sits back in the pew, possibly closer to Louis than he need be, but Louis can’t say he minds.

 

It’s strange, being here with Harry. Good strange, but strange nonetheless. It feels special, that Harry’s invited him to his home, to see the place he grew up, for a holiday Louis knows he finds significant. It feels special that Harry’s parents already know so much about him, and that Harry had been so quick to shoot down his offer to sleep on the couch, pulling Louis into his bed and wriggling back into his chest.

 

It’s strange seeing him in this environment. He knows Harry who dated three men at once and slept with others at the same time, and who climbed onto the bar when We Can’t Stop started playing, managing to get everyone singing along, and Harry who’s got a crystal collection next to his bed and has formed a bond with the cat they aren’t meant to know about the floor above them. It feels special, that he gets to be treated to this Harry, a bit softer and bucolic in a way he’s never seen him. This Harry only has his very top button undone and he’s not wearing any rings and his hair is fluffy and freshly brushed and Louis finds that he just loves him more, now that he’s seen what’s at the core of him.

 

This is the place that Harry grew up, that made him into who he is today. The thought makes Louis want to write out a thank you card to every single person who lives in the small town, thank everyone for helping form the boy he’s fallen in love with.

 

It’s a long service. He’s probably not as focussed as he should be, his mind too distracted imagining Harry sitting in these pews as a teenager, or singing in the church choir, but he just copies Harry, singing the hymns in the print-out booklet and kneeling for prayer before Harry takes him up to receive blessing and communion.

 

They have tea and hot cross buns in the foyer afterwards, while some or other committee hides Easter eggs in in the park behind the church because the rain has finally stopped, and the skies are clear. Harry holds his hand the entire time, introducing him to too many people for Louis to begin to remember.

 

Louis notices a few people watching them carefully, like they know something Louis doesn’t. He pays it little mind, rather lets himself be absorbed by Harry, absolutely radiant as he makes small talk with absolutely everyone. It’s strange to think that Harry is as important to these people as he is to Louis, the point really driven home when one of the men Harry introduces him to pulls out his wallet and shows him a picture of a young Harry crouching next to a cow, the picture slotted in with pictures of his own children. He feels guilty almost, that he has the luxury of Harry always being in walking distance, when these people only get holidays.

 

They’re technically too old to take part in the Easter egg hunt, but Harry juts out his lower lip until the reverend says they’re allowed two eggs each, as long as they don’t take from the little children. Somehow, they end up helping the younger children search for coloured foil, Harry hoisting a little girl up so she can reach a yellow egg hidden in the leaves of a tree, and Louis carrying a little boy through a muddy patch so that he won’t get his clothes dirty. It’s a great sacrifice of his leather dress shoes, but he catches Harry giving him this look as soon as he’s put the little boy down that he can’t quite decipher, but it makes him feel warm all over.

 

They find a little space to sit on the steps of the veranda, despite the fact that the steps are very much wet. Harry peels at the foil of a turquoise egg gingerly, while Louis just tears at the multi-coloured foil of his own, swallowing his mouthful of chocolate by the time Harry’s only taking his first bite.

 

They sit in silence, something highly dangerous because it leaves Louis with his own thoughts. He rests his elbows on his knees and looks out at the field, watching children get mud all over their Sunday Best while parents sigh affectionately and let them be. It’s terrifying, because he wouldn’t mind having this, all of it, with the boy sitting next to him. He can see himself drinking tea and asking about renovation plans while little ones dirty the clothing Harry picked out special for them, can see himself joining in making a mess of himself, until finally getting Harry to mess himself up too. He can see it so clearly, the two of them walking home, splattered with mud, a little one on his hip and another holding Harry’s hand. It’s extremely terrifying.

 

Harry’s completely unaware of his turmoil, his turquoise square of foil moulded over the round of his knee as he smooths it out with his thumbnail. He tucks it into Louis’ breast pocket once he’s satisfied, murmuring a quiet, ‘Matches your eyes,’ before he’s pulling Louis to his feet, back to rejoin the party.

 

 

 

By the time Louis' getting into his pyjamas, he's eaten his weeks’ worth of sugar in Easter eggs and hot cross buns, feeling a bit like he may never be able to look at chocolate the same way again.

 

Harry is groaning deadweight as they head back downstairs. They've claimed the entire couch, it would seem, when Louis flops down and Harry flops on top of him, making Louis groan.

 

He feels a bit sick actually, moving Harry bodily until he's not resting all his weight on Louis' stomach and the pain recedes slightly. Harry slots against him, wriggling back until his back is pressed to Louis' front, the two of them sleepy and stuffed.

 

'Don't feel well,' Harry whines, pressing his forehead into the couch cushion. Louis kisses the back of his neck, reaching down to press his palm flat to his tummy and applying light pressure before rubbing his hand in small circles, so that Harry hums happily.

 

Louis' in his own little world of Harry, only snapping to attention when Anne comes in from the kitchen and coos, pulling out her phone and asking them to smile.

 

Louis falls asleep, apparently, because next thing he knows Harry is shaking him awake. Louis' drowsy and lackadaisical and Harry is the prettiest thing he's ever seen, hovering over him and carding through his hair.

 

'Time for bed, Lou,' he whispers, voice soft and gravelly.

 

Louis yawns and pushes himself to sit up. 'Yeah, okay. Just gonna get some water, then I'll be right up.'

 

Harry kisses his cheek before standing. Louis watches after him until he rounds the corner before he stands, clicking his neck and shuffling through to the kitchen.

 

He swallows down a glass of water, rinsing his glass out afterwards and setting it on the drying rack before brushing back his fringe and turning on his heel.

 

He nearly jumps out his skin when he spots Anne leaning in the doorway, arms folded across her chest. Louis briefly worries that she's going to tell him to get away from her son, or something equally awful, but she's smiling, so hopefully she's not cornering him to give him bad news or threaten his life.

 

'You gave me a fright,' he laughs easily, resting his hand on the breakfast table.

 

'Sorry pet, just wanted to have a quick word.' Louis' terror must show on his face, because Anne laughs, tucking her hair behind one ear just like Harry does. 'It's nothing bad, don't worry.'

 

Louis nods, waiting for her to continue. She fiddles with the drawstring of her gown for a moment, before she's coming closer to Louis, reaching to rest a hand on his upper arm.

 

'You're the first person my son has ever brought home,' she pauses then, making sure that Louis is looking her dead in the eye as she squeezes his arm lightly, almost comfortingly, 'be good to him.'

 

It wakes him up, if nothing else, gets his mind working as he climbs the stairs up to Harry's room. Harry's already climbed into bed, the duvet pulled up to his neck and his eyes closed. Louis climbs in next to him, Harry's eyes sliding open and a smile pulling on his sweet mouth.

 

Louis rolls onto his side, Harry copying. 'Did you have a good Easter?'

 

Louis grins at him. 'Yeah, the best. Thanks.'

 

Harry wriggles closer, a dreamy smile on his face as their legs tangle together. Harry reaches up, cupping his jaw and running his thumb across the line of his cheekbone.

 

'I'm glad you're here,' Harry tells him, voice low. Louis' hand finds its way to the dip of his waist, resting lightly.

 

'Me too.'

 

He's not sure how it happens, or who moves first, but Harry's close enough that he can feel every outbreath, can admire the maps of veins on his eyelids when they close. He slides his hand to rest at the centre of his back, nearly spanning across the width of his waist, and Harry's fingers twitch against his jaw, and then

 

Then they're pressed together, head to toe, mouth to mouth. There's not a lick of alcohol in Harry's mouth, just toothpaste and mouthwash. He's kissing Harry, while Harry's actually in a state to remember the next morning.

 

He's sweeter than he remembers, mortal memory unable to do him justice. Louis feels like livewire, alert and conscious of everything he’s feeling, of Harry up against him, how he feels beneath Louis’ hands. It’s better than anything Louis’ ever experienced, any sex he’s ever had. He feels like he’s burning at every point of contact between himself and Harry, like his skin is tingling.

 

He can’t imagine living the rest of his life not feeling like this, as amazing as he does right now.

 

 

 

**23 DECEMBER 2015**

 

‘Shh, little one. There are people sleeping.’

 

Harry doesn’t stop giggling, just kisses him again when Louis gropes shamelessly at his arse. He falls back against the bed, Harry tumbling down with him, landing on his chest with an _oof_. He’s still got his feet planted on the floor, but Harry’s got his thighs spread, straddling Louis’ hips.

 

Louis slides his hands into the back of Harry’s pants, digging his fingers into the round of his arse and using his leverage to grind Harry down at the same time that he grinds up. Harry moans, earning a swat to the arse. ‘Hush now,’

 

A bit counterproductive perhaps, but Louis repeats the action. Mainly because he knows it’ll make Harry moan again. When he does, Louis pulls back, breaking their kiss at the same time that he lets his fingers trace down the cleft of his arse, fingers edging close to where Harry’s expecting to be touched.

 

‘Do I need to keep you quiet, my love?’ He draws the hand that’s not pressed up against his taint from his underwear, bring it to trace his thumb along Harry’s lower lip. Harry’s tongue darts out, licking at the tip of his thumb. He squeezes his arse again before he draws his hand out, giving him another light smack.

 

Harry slides from his lap and onto the floor without further prompting, settling on his knees between Louis’. Louis sits up, leaning back on his left hand and reaching forward to card through Harry’s hair with his other.

 

He doesn’t rush him, lets him take his own time. Harry loves doing this, probably loves sucking cock more than Louis loves getting his cock sucked. Harry pulls at his waistband, tucking the elastic behind his balls before he curls his fingers around him.

 

He leans in, licking at Louis’ head with the flat of his tongue almost painfully slow. He savours it, eyes closed as he opens his mouth and sucks on Louis’ head. He’s unhurried with it, delighting in the feeling of taking Louis into his mouth.

 

He looks absolutely content, mouth stretched around him as he takes him in deeper, before pulling off and licking his palm. He wraps his hand around him again, twisting his fist around him at the same time that he sucks him back into his mouth.

 

He hollows his cheeks, taking Louis in until he hits the back of his throat and he gags, pulling off and licking a stripe up the underside, getting him wet before he takes him back into his mouth. He hums around him when Louis pulls at his hair lightly, taking him in deep again, working through it until his lips meet his hand. His mouth is literal magic, Louis is almost sure of it.

 

Harry’s cheeks hollow and he can see the line of his dick through his cheek. God, Louis could probably come from this, except he doesn’t really want to. ‘Baby,’ he groans, keeping his voice down. Harry blinks up at him, eyes bright and wide, filled with faux innocence. An impressive feat, considering the fact that his mouth it full of Louis’ cock. ‘You’re gonna make me come.’

 

Harry seems to take that as a hint to double his efforts, swallowing around him before Louis pulls him off by his hair. His mouth is wet and spit-slick.

 

‘Come on, up you get,’ Louis says, hooking his hands under his arms to try and hoist him up, until Harry cooperates and clambers up onto the bed, sitting right over the line of Louis’ prick before Louis rolls them over, splayed diagonal across the bed.

 

Harry reaches down between their bodies to wrap his fingers around Louis, jerking him off despite the awkward angle. Louis kisses him until he’s lying flat against the mattress, his thighs bracketing Louis’ hips as he rubs his thumb over his slit.

 

Louis slides his hands down, resting his forehead against his shoulder as he dips his hands into his pants and starts to pull them down, sitting back on his haunches so that he can get Harry out of them, one leg at a time.

 

When he’s finally gloriously naked, Louis leans back over him, wrapping a tight fist around his stupidly pretty cock and working over him until he’s gasping in his ear, hips jerking up and thighs squeezing tighter at his hips.

 

He lets go of him once he’s wet, leaning back on his haunches again as he curls his hands around Harry’s waist, digging his thumbs into the malleable skin. He pulls Harry towards himself, his back sliding against the bedding until the backs of his thighs are pressed up against Louis’ hips, his arse resting on his upper thighs.

 

Louis leans forward until his elbows are pressing into the mattress beside Harry’s ribs, the two of them pressed together from their chests to their hips. It feels good, the burn of Harry’s little body against his in the cold room, the heat of his cock arching up against his stomach when Louis grinds down, against him. The knowledge that their family is literally in the next room over.

 

Harry wraps his arms around him, one leg hitched around his waist to make sure he stays pressed as close as possible, arse curving up off the bed so that he can buck his hips up against Louis’ when he grinds down.

 

His cock lines up with Harry’s and it’s like heaven, his eyes rolling back in his head as Harry lets out a loud moan. Louis presses two fingers past his lips to muffle him when he grinds down against him, so that the pitiful little whine Harry makes is somewhat softened.

 

They rock together, Harry’s hands grabbing at his biceps and shoulders and whatever he can get a grip on as sweat beads across Louis’ shoulders. They’re crashing together, really, bodies moving as a simulation of sex, Harry grinding his arse down into the mattress each time Louis trusts down against him.

 

The angle goes a bit wrong and Louis’ dick nudges between his legs before he thrusts just right, cock sliding down the cleft of his arse. Harry whimpers around his fingers, and Louis presses them deeper, curling them around the back of his tongue at the same time that he shifts his hips experimentally, cockhead catching against Harry’s rim.

 

Harry bites down on his digits, curling his fingers around his bicep and digging his nails in as Louis rocks his hips. He spits into his palm before reaching down to stroke over himself, pressing even closer to his boy as he mimics fucking him, each thrust ending with his cock pressed just right, so close. Harry whines in frustration, and Louis takes pity, reaching between their sweaty stomachs to take hold of his cock, working him ruthlessly until he keens, body tensing up and curling in when he comes wet between them, all over his trembling tummy.

 

He sags back onto the bed, smiling up at Louis breathlessly as he gets up onto his knees, towering over him as he finishes himself off, coming thick and adding to the mess on Harry’s belly. His last orgasm as a twenty six year old.

 

Harry drags his fingers through the mess, swiping it up with his hands before standing, keeping his hands poised palm-up against his stomach in case anything decides to drip. His arse really does look good, Louis can’t help but think as he watches him drag himself to the bathroom.

 

He pulls at the duvet until he can wriggle under the covers, letting warm satisfaction wash over him. He feels loose-limbed and sleepy from his orgasm, strangely excited for his birthday tomorrow, and just overwhelmingly happy when Harry comes back to him, hair tied up and tummy wiped clean before he climbs in next to him.

 

He picks up his phone for his last social media checks of the day, yawning like a little baby lion as he does. Louis manhandles him closer, Harry going with it until Louis has him half on his chest and he can reach down to rest his hands on his bum, groping the softness with a happy hum.

 

Harry smiles sleepily at his actions before he locks his phone, stretching as far as Louis’ hold will let him to set it down on the bedside table. He’s putty in his hands, letting Louis move him around until he finds the perfect position for bum groping.

 

Harry starts to doze off easily, which is good because he’s going to need his rest. Harry has something planned for tomorrow, he’s not sure what yet, but he knows he’s up to something. It’s fine though, because Louis’ also got plans, namely for tomorrow night. That involve lots of lube and the lovely body part he’s currently pawing at.

 

Harry’s breathing’s almost evened out completely, before he blinks his eyes open and leans up to give Louis a small kiss. ‘Love you,’ he mumbles, before he practically promptly falls asleep, like his body will never let him rest until he’s said it.

 

Louis presses his lips to his temple. ‘Love you too.’


End file.
